Page 49 of Theirs to Hunt (Girls Like Us #1)

Chapter forty-nine

Grayson finishes the last sip of his coffee, sets the mug in the sink, and turns to me with that look.

The silent kind. No need for words.

“I’m going to shower,” he says, voice rough.

“You good down here?”

I nod once.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just heads upstairs, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt as he goes. Calm. Controlled. Always calculated. But I see the way his hand lingers on the banister. The weight in his shoulders.

He stayed up all night watching her. That means something. He didn’t leave her side. Didn’t sleep.

When I’m not with her, I know she’s protected. By someone who loves her as much as I do.

Reagan freezes mid-step when she sees him go, a stack of plates in her hands.

Her eyes track him, lips parted, breath soft .

As the shirt slips from his shoulders and he disappears up the stairs, she lets out the quietest sigh.

I smile to myself and gently clear my throat.

She startles, the plates wobbling. I step in to help, brushing her fingers as I take the forks from her hand.

“You cook and clean?” she asks, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

I let her shift the topic off ogling Grayson.

“Only when I like who I cooked for.” I give her a half-smirk. The truth would land wrong otherwise.

We fall into a rhythm.

Quiet. Easy.

I rinse. She loads the dishwasher.

She hums once under her breath, stops, then starts again.

Like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to be this comfortable here.

“You always this domestic?” she asks, trying to keep it light.

But there’s something in her voice. A scratch.

Like she doesn’t know what to do with this kind of softness.

“No,” I say honestly. “But I want to be.”

Her hands pause on the last plate. She looks at me. Really looks.

And I feel that stare hit somewhere deep in my chest.

“For me?”

I nod.

“For you. For us.”

She’s quiet for a beat, then closes the dishwasher and leans back against the counter.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re the only person who’s ever made my father lose sleep.”

That earns a small, real smile.

“And you?” she asks.

“You lose sleep too? ”

I dry my hands, still watching her.

“I dream about you, Reagan.

And I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”

I take a step closer. Not touching. Not yet. Just close enough that she feels it.

“This thing, whatever it is, it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but us.”

Her fingers curl around the edge of the counter.

She needs something solid.

So I grab her hips and lift her onto the counter so we’re eye to eye.

“I’m not going to let you fall without someone to catch you,” I say. “Not me. Not Grayson. Not ever again.”

She starts to argue. I see it. But she doesn’t. She whispers, “I don’t know how to do this.”

I smile, slow and sure. “Good. We’ll figure it out together.”

Upstairs, the water starts running.

Grayson. Always perfectly timed.

I glance at the ceiling, then back to her.

“He’s all in, you know,” I say, softer now. “He just doesn’t always know how to say it.”

She nods. “I think I’m starting to figure that out.”

I lean in. Slow.

Letting her decide. She doesn’t back away. She leans forward.

I brush my lips over hers. Once. Twice.

She parts her lips.

And I rest my forehead against hers. “I want this. I want you. But I’m not doing this after a traumatic night and before we talk it out.”

She huffs, but nods.

We finish cleaning up, side by side. First of a thousand small moments. I want all of them.